Holiest Unholy Water

I think that it is 

outrageously religious 

that I love you like this,

that I love you this strongly.

I trust you unquestioned 

as if somewhere in the ingredients 

that was needed for God’s creation of me

called for your name on the tip of my tongue like saliva 

from craving a dessert you hadn’t had available to you before

not only curving my 19 year long drought-like thirst, but

baptizing my existence with the unholy-holy water

that excretes out of your body like 

heated, passionate, sex sweat

my arms, my body, and my being yearning for you, 

all that you are in the wild scheme of things &

all that I could confidently say 

you could be … 

the puzzle piece of a jigsaw puzzle 

anti-fantasy adult life has been tossed to the side,

completely forgotten.

Holy water 

the puddle of it

that I’d find myself

sitting in puddles of after every conversation 

with you.

Almost as if being a sponge

that’s absorbed too much of its substance

after moments of being shown a love

that seemed more of a routine or an act for you &

what you should have been showing yourself.

Almost as someone who needs to cleanse 

after life-threatening heartbreak after experiencing a conversation

that couldn’t imaginably have gone worse.

I think that it is 

outrageously religious

that I trust you unquestioned without a second thought like this

that I’d allow you to slap my ass,

without even a fleeting thought 

of wanting to fulfill an equal slap to your face,

pull my hair - messing it up

from my neatly slicked back, shiny tied back ponytail

displaying the art of giving me a bedhead

with no bed in sight and no bed needed,

that I’d allow you to kiss me, kissing my neck 

inducing premature heart attack from fear of showing  

like I was yours

(later on, we both found out that I was not)

like you wanted your lips to taunt and tease me like tickles

that like to turn to ghosts and haunt me only when authority can chastise me,

allowing you to warm my neck

with the singular force of your hand and each digit on it

just tight enough that it reminds my lungs in this split second

if I wasn’t in the safety of -Yours- that my lugs would never again

be able to indulge in their love for the taste of air.

Holy water 

an oasis of it

that I’d find myself

after fighting, pushing my bodies weight

holding myself back, using all forces 

to clamp both rows of teeth on a tongue that wants to be unruly

speaking a mind that does not belong to itself

wanting to tell you stuff that you wouldn’t listen to

things we later on said, but blew off as expected. 

Holy water

a memory foam pillow absorbed with it

years after trying to digest this relationship 

what it used to be or 

how the infatuation of you 

once equaled what could have been